


Reverie

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [320]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:20:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: reverie: noun: rev-uh-ree: a state of dreamy meditation or fanciful musingfrom Dictionary.com:Reverie has calmed down from its original meaning of wild emotion, wild behavior, anger, fury (the 14th and 15th centuries). The Middle French nouns reverie and resverie derive from Middle French verbs resver, raver, rever “to be insane, behave deliriously” (in modern French rȇver means only “to dream”). The current English meaning of daydreaming dates from the 15th century.





	Reverie

Sherlock stood up slowly as John knelt down to examine their latest corpse; the criminal classes had been busy of late, perhaps it was the weather, the alignment of the planets, perhaps it was simply a case of random events happening close together, or some other force at work, not that he believed in forces, John loved those ridiculous Star... Wars? Yes, Star Wars movies, there was the Dark Side of the Force and the other side...he looked over at Anderson and Donovan arguing about something, wife was back in town, no - she had finally left him and they had just moved in together, that won't last long; then turned to see Lestrade trying to teach the newbie 'proper procedure', and narrowed his eyes at the crime scene photographer, Fred, had started flirting with...whatshername... Holly? No...it was one of those weird modern names...

"Her name is Hayley," John muttered, breaking him out of his reverie. "You all right?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

John shrugged and rattled off his observations; he was getting better, Sherlock mused, he noticed the things he would have missed on their first case - god that seems like ages ago, but it was, what six years ago now, only six years - John's hair was turning silver at the edges, he was essentially the same as he had always been, but he had mellowed, they both had. He supposed death, even a fake death tends to change a person, where did that come from? He took a breath, and realised everyone was watching him, waiting for him to -

"Sorry. Right. Not a murder."

"Not a murder?"

"No, simple accident, well, not so simple, it took a bit of doing, but she tripped and fell - hit her head, managed to crawl a bit before she died. Someone, with a size 14.5 shoe, picked up her bag, looked through it, then put it back next to the body, doesn't look like he took anything, wallet and phone were left behind. Will probably find their fingerprints on the bag, or in it, unless he was wearing gloves, it's cold, so... might be your anonymous caller, called using his own phone, waited until he heard the sirens, then took off, perhaps late for an appointment, probably a lawyer, or a doctor, going by the pile of ashes, very few people can afford to smoke these days." He knelt next to the footprints and sighed. "Good quality shoe, fairly new, not much wear on the sole - custom made, long and fairly wide - you might be able to locate him through his shoes, but he's done nothing wrong, it was just miserable bad luck, not murder."

Lestrade nodded. "Thanks anyway, boys. Up for a pint?"

John glanced over at Sherlock, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts again. "Not tonight, been a long couple of weeks, need to get him home."

"Right - another time."

 

"Hey."

"Hmmm?"

"Sherlock. We're home."

"Right." Sherlock blinked and looked around the flat.

"Hungry?"

"Hmmm. No, not especially." He pulled off his gloves and placed them carefully in his pockets, then paused, as if trying to decide what to do next.

"Can I help?"

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes as John unwrapped his scarf from his neck, helped him from his coat then led him to the couch. "Sit." Sherlock sat, and let out a sigh as John removed his shoes and socks.

"Why?"

"Why?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and gazed down at John, who was waiting patiently, as he always had. "I've always wondered why you - I didn't want to ask, it seemed a bit rude to ask why you stayed with me, but I - I want to know. I want to hear you tell me why."

John snorted. "Really?"

"Never mind. It doesn't matter in the least." He started to get up from the couch, but John laid his hands on Sherlock's knees, stopping any further attempt of movement. 

"Right. Uhm. You know I'm - I was going to say I'm arse at talking about this kind of thing, but I should be able to tell you." He rolled his eyes as his knees cracked when he stood up, then sat next to Sherlock on the couch and took his hand. "You brought me into your life, without really knowing me - no, I know you knew stuff, but, you didn't really know me, as a person, you took a chance, and made me part of something bigger, weirder, definitely a bit mad at times, but, I began to forget I was damaged and broken, because you made me believe I had a purpose, you gave me that, you gave me a place. And then, I fell in love with you, it wasn't just one thing, I don't honestly think there was a particular moment when I knew it had happened, but at the Pool, I knew - I think it was before then - I understood. And it didn't matter that I had never been in love with a man before. All I knew was that I didn't want to be without you, and when we got home that morning, you wouldn't talk to me - you couldn't even bear to look at me, and then - you got up from the table, dropped to your knees in front of me, leaned your head against my legs and you whispered that you loved me. I've always wished that I had told you first, but I was afraid. Afraid I was wrong, that you didn't feel things in that way. I've never been loved by anyone the way you love me, I don't say it as much as I should, I thought you knew - I love the way your nose crinkles when you are working through something; I love how your breathing catches when I whisper your name, when your hands reach for mine, and hold on tightly, as if you need -"

John's next words were gently kissed away. "I'm sorry, sometimes, I just need to hear it. I do know, John. Honestly, I do."

"Come on, time for bed, hmm?"

Sherlock nodded. "Please."


End file.
